


Tunnel Vision

by detective_prince



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, some violence, wouldn't go as far as to call it graphic though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:24:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9857810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detective_prince/pseuds/detective_prince
Summary: What happened? Why is waking up here?





	1. Pain

Everything is black.

Lance blinks his eyes a few times, desperate to have his vision back. Slowly, it returns to him. His vision is blurry, dark around the edges, but it’s something. His ears are ringing, the loud buzz echoing, and it makes it almost impossible to just think. Think, think, think.

What happened? Why is waking up here?

His cheek is flush against cold ground, before he slowly pushes himself up on his knees. His body shakes and trembles as he looks about himself. This isn't Voltron. This isn't the Castle of Lions.  Where is he? Where? Where? Where?

Blindly, he feels to the side of himself, to where his peripheral can’t reach under tunnel vision, fingers grazing a cold metallic wall. He throws most of his body against the wall, desperately clamoring to his feet.He hugs the wall, breaths ragged, and suddenly he nearly doubles over. Everything _burns_. His insides are on fire and it takes everything he has not to whimper or scream. He can’t even begin to describe the way his head feels. Hit by a train doesn’t even begin to describe the extent of his pain.

He walks, steps slow and heavy. Each movement must be thought of in advance, his own legs seeming to slow him down. And then, through the buzzing in his ears, he hears it. The mechanical whir of a door opening by him.

The alien that steps through is like nothing he’s ever seen. Tall, dark, commanding, with skin in muted greens and blues. They speak, words like a feral growl, in a language he can’t remotely comprehend. It doesn’t matter, he supposes, because in the next moment he’s shoved hard against the wall. His imposing captor’s forearm lies heavily across his throat and, in a moment of flight or fight response, Lance claws at him. He just wants to breathe. Just wants _freedom_.

Freedom doesn’t come.


	2. Touch

“Lance..?” The voice is soft and littered with hurt. No.. Maybe fear. “Lance, just hold in there..”

Slowly, he becomes aware of his surroundings again even with his eyes still glued tightly together. The soft fabric beneath his bare back, the warm hands against his icy skin, something slick and warm between his stomach and her fingers.

He forces his eyes open and once again his world is a haze, flittered flurrying colors that can’t quite form together to make a picture. Lance blinks, eyelids heavy and breathing labored. He reaches up, hands landing lightly on the face of the person above him. Glasses. It’s Pidge. He lets his hand fall back down to his side limply.

Part of him is grateful to have her here. He’s not alone. She’s holding him tightly, there to keep him from feeling completely isolated. To keep him from doing something else stupid like getting strangled again. 

Selfish. Wanting her here is so  _ fucking _ selfish. He can’t support her and all she can do is watch him groan quietly in pain every so often. Who knows how much danger they’re in here? Their captors have already displayed threatening behaviors. They need to get out. 

Determined by his thoughts, by his longing to save her, Lance tries to sit himself up. He whimpers in agony, pain ripping through his body like someone came at him like a chainsaw. And then in an instant, Pidge shoves him back into her lap. “Do you  _ want _ to die?” She hisses, tears pricking her eyes. She raises a hand to wipe at the tears threatening to spill over and all he sees is red. Red. Red. 

That isn’t from him, is it? It can’t be. Sure, it feels like someone ripped him a new one, but it can’t possibly be true. He hides face in her side, breathing in her scent. He needs to calm down. Panicking will only hurt him further. Hurt  _ them  _ further, Pidge is clearly suffering. She’s shedding tears for him. For all the times he thought she didn’t care for him, wasn’t as attached, he feels regret. 

She kisses his forehead, cradling him close. 

“Are we having a bonding moment?” He asks, a soft smile on his face.

“I’m not Keith,” She mumbles, stroking his hair.

“Didn’t have one with him,” He kisses her arm, knowing attempting to sit up to kiss her cheek was futile.

“You’re really not letting that one go, huh?”

“And let Keith think he won? Never,” He jests, laughing shakily.

Pidge smiles softly, before her brow creases and she puts more pressure on his wound. This is a serious situation, there’s only so much merriment she can indulge him in. “Your wound won’t stop bleeding. All I can do is put pressure on it..”

The door opens.   
Their captor walks in and grips Lance’s shoulder, pulling the flailing paladin through the door. Pidge’s frantic desperate screaming for him to come back, for them to leave him is the only thing he can focus on.

**Author's Note:**

> I might continue this, should inspiration hit.  
> I want my child to suffer ;)


End file.
